


The Knight Who Would Not Die

by Lisbeth_laufeyson



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Temporary Character Death, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26884237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisbeth_laufeyson/pseuds/Lisbeth_laufeyson
Summary: Yusuf Al-Kaysani attempts to defend his city from Christian invaders but finds death on the end of a young knights sword. Usually, that would be the end of the story but this time it is the begining.
Kudos: 13





	1. Arise

It had long been foretold by people fleeing from further west that death was coming and yet they had never thought should a thing was possible until the armies appeared in the distance. Yusuf al-kaysani was not a soldier and so had not marched out to meet the Christians head on but he readily grabbed his scimitar in defence of his home and family. There was a sizeable group of them all bristling with weapons, and as they marched beyond the city walls to meet the would be invaders Yusuf's blood sang with the prospect of successful defence.

He had been woefully naïve.

It seemed like a lifetime later that he stumbled across the sand, through bodies of Christian and Muslim alike, some still locked in their death embrace of mutual killing blows. He felt no fear in fact he felt nothing but the weight of the sword in his hand and the pull on his skin as the blood, mostly that of others, dried on his skin.

Movement to Yusuf's left broke his thoughts and saw a man. The white robes were streaked with gore. His helment had long since gone and long light brown hair thrashed freely in the breeze around his head. The invader was unsteady on his feet, stumbling first to one side and then the other before regaining his composure. He shouted something across the dead-lands between them and before Yusuf's exhausted mind could translate he was tearing across the space like a man possessed, armour booming together on each step, hair flying and eyes wild. 

Yusuf felt a dull thud and then pain blossomed from a sharp point just beneath his ribs. He looked down and grabbed the longsword with both hands. His killer savagely tore the blade from him and lacerated his hands in the process. Yusuf fell forward on his knees, blood pouring from his wounds, and looked up into the eyes of the knight.

A young face stared back at him, probably just a little younger than Yusuf himself, and the wild, wide eyes that stared at him from under blood soaked hair were green flecked with gold. There was a deep hatred in those eyes and the knight snarled as he barked words in Italian.

“Go with God,”

Yusuf smiled and spoke through the blood that filled his mouth. “Maybe so, but not with yours.”

Yusuf passed from the world with the satisfaction of seeing his killer's shocked face at the mockery flung at him in his own tongue.

#

The sun was hot and burned Yusuf's skin. Slowly, he sat up and shook away the tendrils of a half remembered dream of watching a figure robed in red and white stumble through a wasteland, and in snatches he wasn't sure were separate, two women wandering together, laughing, fighting others, travelling. Around him in the real world was a sea of blood and bodies. The wails of dying men filled his ears and the stench of copper and fire hung heavily in the air. Yusuf got to his feet, found his sword, and came eye to eye with a familiar face.

This time it was Yusuf who ran, closing the gap between him and the knight with ferocious speed. His scimitar kissed the man's throat and blood gushed from the wound. The knight clutched at Yusuf as he fell. Their eyes met again and still the knights eyes held no hatred. Yusuf sank down to kneel with the man as death slowly claimed him, offering a comfort he had not been given when he fell. The difference was the knights death was inevitable. His own, evidently, had not been.

“Verily we belong to Allah, and verily to Him do we return,” Yusuf said softly in Arabic. He assumed the young knight from the west would not understand so kept the tone of his voice soft, an underserved kindness for an invader that had tried to kill him but it was something Yusuf couldn't make himself withhold.

He laid the knight down on his back and tenderly closed his eyes when the last breath had left him. The sounds and smells of war enveloped him once more and as he stood and looked towards the city Yusuf's world fell apart.

The city was overrun by the invading knights. A flash of anger ignited Yusuf's soul and drove his feet into a run. 

He never made it further than a few steps. 

#

The dream was there again except this time he awoke screaming and grabbing for a broken limb that turned out to be whole. Though his leg was functional his jaw was not. It hung crookedly to one side, broken yet held within a cradle of stretched muscle and straining skin. He howled as the bones crunched and groaned against one another before popping back into formation.

He sat for a few moments before gingerly touching his jaw. What was happening to him?! 

There was no time to think about it. A rock hit him in the back. The second flew harmlessly over Yusuf's shoulder. Yusuf rose fluidly to his feet, rage flooding him. He knew instinctively that he would see the same man behind him, the knight who refused to die, and there he was, chest heaving, nostrils flaring as anger soaked through him as well. What did he have to be angry about? He could have stayed home, away from Yusuf's homeland, away from the cursed trek of the Christian knights but no! He chose to be here.

They regarded each other for a moment, circling warily, stepping over bodies of fallen comrades on both sides. The knight lost his footing and fell on his back, but Yusuf was an honourable man and let the young knight regain his feet before he rushed to bring him a swift death.

#

It had been months. Possibly years.

Yusuf could not win but neither could the invader, though Yusuf gleaned small satisfaction from that fact. The knight was not the only one who had attempted to kill Yusuf but his death always had the same result. He rose once more, wounds healed, strength restored after a short while, and killed his murderers. The only one who rose again, just like him, was the knight who refused to die.

Several times they met in battle. They were evenly matched and killed each other at the same time more often than not and rose beside each other only to drive blades home once more. It was a strange intimacy that blossomed between them, born from soaking in each others blood and witnessing countless dying gasps and participating in a fruitless feud that drove them together over and over again.

As the months wore on and both of their beards grew thick and their hair long a desperateness slipped into their fights. The knight who refused to die ranted and raved in his own language, offering up prayers to his God as he drove his longsword through Yusuf again and again in wilder blows. Yusuf was not immune to the madness but his own prayers were silent, his intent just as deadly. He would see this man die, this would be destroyer of his beautiful homeland, and the longer he was prevented from doing so the more frustrated he became.

The constant struggle drove them further and further out into the desert until it was just them and their war. Yusuf walked like he knew where he was going and the knight who would not die followed on behind, cursing in his own language and stumbling about in the coarse sand. Eventually he would catch up with Yusuf in a sudden burst of anger and Yusuf would turn to engage him, just like every other day. By the time both would awake again the sky would be full of stars and the air cold.

A soft thud sounded not far behind him. What made Yusuf run to him he would never know. Perhaps it was the need of the familiar sight of the knight who would not die dogging his footsteps? Maybe he wasn't quite ready to leave behind the one being who seemed to be afflicted with whatever curse had seized him? Whatever the reason Yusuf found himself kneeling in the searing sand and turning over the body of his unwanted travelling companion.

The man was dead. Lips parched to a cracked mess. Skin burned by days in the sun with no covering for his face. Those eyes that had stared down at Yusuf during his first death filled with empty were now empty and staring.

A lump rose in Yusuf's throat. He reached out and gently placed his hand on the knights sweat soaked hair.

The man's chest heaved as if he had drowned. Yusuf scrambled away but he couldn't get his footing quick enough and found himself pushed to his back in the burning sand. The knight who would not die straddled his chest and held Yusuf's arms down with his knees. Weak hands gripped his neck and attempted to squeeze. Yusuf held the pressure off as long as he could but, as the knights strength returned Yusuf's waned. Dark spots clouded his vision.

A loud sob rattled the knights body. Welcome drops fell on Yusuf's dry skin as the knight leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together for a moment before wrenching himself away. The knight who would not die threw himself upon his knees in the sand, hands clasped, his scorched face turned towards the sky as he whimpered and sobbed and prayed with all his heart.

Yusuf watched for a long moment. The pain in his throat had quickly dissipated only to be replaced by a painful lump at the sight of the knight sobbing like a child. When he turned his frustration upon himself, slapping his own face and drawing his sword Yusuf moved quickly. He grabbed the blade like he had done so many months, maybe years ago and, this time, though blood poured from his wounded hands onto the metal, he tore it from the knights grasp.

“Enough!” he yelled. He spoke it again and again, in every language he knew and through it all the knight stared up at him, his eyes wide and wild like the storm torn sea and tears streaming down his filthy face.

Yusuf softened his voice and spoke the word over and over again in Italian. His own eyes crowded with tears. “Enough!” He wiped his eyes on his dirty sleeve and held out his other hand.

The knight stared at it for a long moment, untrustworthy perhaps of an empty hand that had so many times held the instrument of his death. With a deep breath he placed his hand in Yusuf's and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet.

“A truce?” he croaked.

Yusuf shook his head. “No, truce can be broken,” he picked the words carefully out in Italian. “We end this now. No more death. No more pain. We search together.”

The knight who would not die nodded in sudden recognition. “For the women?”

Yusuf smiled wearily. They really did have the same curse if they were sharing dreams. “Yes, we will look for them. If we dream them they must be important.” He handed the knight back his sword. “You turn this on me once more and I find fate worse than death.”

“Likewise,” the knight said. He sheathed his sword. “I will never again raise my sword or anything including my hands, against you in anger. What would really be the point if you cannot die?”

A laugh burst forth from Yusuf. Perhaps his Italian was failing him? It was hot and he was thirsting badly. Or perhaps his unlooked for companion was really bad at jokes?

Without another word between them they started walking in search of the water they both sorely needed, and this time, when they succumbed one after another to thirst and heat, they found the other keeping careful watch until life was returned to them once more.


	2. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf and the knight who will not die are no longer killing each other but that doesn't mean the rest of the world got the memo.

It had been a particular gruesome battle, one made worse for Yusuf as it was men of his homeland that engaged them. He tried to do nothing but defend himself, but when his pale companion fell in a bloody heap on the sand he had no choice but to kill the others before they could dispatch him as well.

The knight who would not die lived up to his name and came back with a deep, gasping breath. Curses fell from his lips and, as Yusuf's sluggish, traumatised mind slowly translated the words anger built within him.

“They kill you because you have no right to be here!” He roared in Italian. “All death and pain in this land is because of you and your brothers.”

The knight stared back at him and slowly wiped blood from his lips. “Your people stole Jerusalem--”

“No, do not spit your bloodied lies at me,” Yusuf warned. He turned away, refusing to let the knight see his tears and put deaf ears towards the ramblings about the holy land and the messiah until he could take no more.

“Do you believe such lies? Truly?” Yusuf snapped. “Do you still view me as some unholy infidel who you must kill to gain entrance into heaven? Do you think that this cause is justified, divine even?”

The knight was silent for a moment and regarded Yusuf with the same wild gaze he had since they had met. He was filled with the fever of purpose and devotion, Yusuf could see that clearly now. Perhaps he would never break of it.

“We were tol--”

“Correct,” Yusuf growled. “You were told and men can lie!” He shook his head sadly. “Have you ever seen Jerusalem?”

The knight shook his head after a while. “You prevented it.”

“Allow me to rectify that.” Yusuf said, the low growl of his voice presenting it as a threat. “And perhaps such a sight will ignite some sense in that woolly head.” He added in Arabic.

#

It was easy enough to turn their course from the women they both dreamed of on a nightly basis to the direction of Jerusalem. The knights from the west had left a trail of destruction in their wake, leaving thousands of dead behind. Often, Yusuf and the knight found themselves in skirmishes with Christian invaders and Muslim warriors and no matter who they met they were both seen as the enemy.

As men who could not die their journey was never stopped, only delayed.

The knights armour had been long hidden under robes and cloaks they took from their adversaries. Yusuf did the same as they both sought some measure of anonymity when enemies came from all sides. Now, they resembled each other, their faces covered against the heat of the beating sun. Swords and daggers concealed under folds of cloth. A little army of two.

As they neared Jerusalem a quiet seemed to settle over the landscape. It pulled at Yusuf's skin like deadly claws and set choking chains around his heart. He held out an arm to prevent the knight who would not die from progressing further forward.

“There is an ill feeling in the air,” Yusuf whispered when the knights eyes narrowed in confusion. “We don't want to see what awaits us.”

“I must,” the knight said, his voice flat, as if the words he spoke were nothing more than facts.

Yusuf nodded. “Then you must go on alone.” He stepped back from the knight and motioned for him to walk on.

There eyes met for a moment, and for once Yusuf did not see the crazed look of one fuelled by misplaced heroism. Instead he saw fear. It was not enough to change his mind though and the knight gave him a small nod. “Very well. May we never darken each others steps again.”

There was a smile there, even partially concealed by the thick reddish beard it was evident and Yusuf returned it. And then the knight who would not die was gone from his side for the first time in what felt like centuries. A shadow's cold embrace seemed to replace him.

Yusuf turned and walked in the other direction. Without the city as his goal he was lost on where to head next. In pursuit of the women he dreamed of? Wouldn't the knight eventually turn that way too since he also saw them in his head? If that was the case then couldn't he just wait until the knight who would not die was ready to search for them too?

He had to see it. The notion filled his entire being. Jerusalem. The city that had been his home of late and his place of business, and it was only by chance that he had travelled to his childhood home further west just before the knights arrived. He owed it to the city that had given him so much to see what the invaders had done in their quest for murder dressed up in a pretty bow of divine orders. 

He ran and when he caught up with the knight he did not stop, nor did he slow when the knight gave chase and grasped his hand for a moment before distance forced them to part. There was no slowing Yusuf now. The spectre of never knowing Jerusalem's fate was hot on his heels.

His body reacted, throwing him to the sand, before his mind caught up with what he was seeing. Three large siege engines towered over the walls of Jerusalem and from it spewed a sea of white clad knights. Prayers spilled from his lips at the sight as his heart threatened to seize in his chest.

The knight who would not die suddenly ran passed him with barely a backward glance towards Yusuf. Oh what a fool he had been, bringing one more blade to stab at the beating heart of his world. He forced himself to his feet and followed the knight.

The confusion in the city allowed them to pass unseen through the broken gates. Yusuf kept close to the knight who would not die eager to see if he had learned anything from travelling with Yusuf or if he would wet his blade with the blood of Yusuf's countrymen regardless. A glancing blow knocked Yusuf to the ground. He turned in time to see another knight in white rise up over him, sword held high, but he was too late to do anything about it. The blade swung down.

“No!” 

Another sword clashed with the first and the knight who would not die shouldered his countryman out of the way. Words were exchanged too fast for Yusuf to translate but from the knights face and the tone of his voice the words were angry. Yusuf pulled himself to his feet but he was too late. The longsword buried deep into Yusuf's companions body, driving up from under his ribs. Their eyes met as the knight who would not die fell to the ground and gasped his last.

Yusuf was not aware he had moved until he saw the second knight dead at his feet. This one did not rise up but more were coming to replace him. Yusuf pulled the arm of his immortal companion over his shoulder as soon as he breathed once more and forced him to move.

This was no war. It was a massacre. The city's inhabitants were cut down like long grass as they tried to flee and no amount of fighting in defence that Yusuf and his companion did seemed to change the tide. Yusuf lost count of the amount of times he died, of waking up with the knight who would not die standing over him in defence, of doing the same for him time and again until they both fell together, the knight to a blow to his neck and Yusuf to a badly parried strike that sent him sprawling back and cracking his head on the stone steps. 

#

Pain bloomed in the back of Yusuf's head and down his spine as he came back into the world. The knight who refused to die was still on the steps beside him, his neck split open and glistening red, his eyes wide, feral, but utterly empty. Yusuf moved as fast as his healing body would allow and shook him.

“Wake up!” he hissed through his teeth.

The knight who would not die remained still and lifeless. Yusuf moved closer and shook him so hard by the shoulders that his head bounced of the steps.

“Wake up!” he cried. His eyes stung with impending tears. “You will not leave me to this fate alone.”

There was still no response. Yusuf grabbed the knight, cradled him in his arms like a small child, and ran. It did not take him long to find an entryway concealed down a narrow alleyway. Yusuf wrenched the door open and slid inside.

The knight was heavy in his arms, a dead weight. Yusuf sought his wound in the dark. Perhaps pushing it together would help? There was no need. What had once been a fatal cut severing everything vital in the knights neck was nothing more than a scratch.

Yusuf offered up whispered words of thanks as his companion came to life once more. He soothed him as best he could, first in Arabic as his mind was too wrung out to speak anything else, and then, when wits were coming back to him, in broken Italian. The knight relaxed in his arms before he made the language switch.

“Hush,” Yusuf whispered even though his own nerves were frayed. He struggled for the Italian words for a moment before giving up and switching to his native tongue. “We need a plan, we cannot go out there and aimlessly kill. We need to do something!”

In the darkness of their hiding space Yusuf could just make out the knight's eyes on him. He wasn't understanding, why would he? None of the Franks knew Arabic or any other language that existed in Yusuf's part of of the world. He sighed and tried to find the correct words.

“We will get people out.” The knight spoke Italian but his words were slow and deliberate. “Do you know a way?”

Yusuf nodded. “You would turn blade against your people?”

“They turned on me,” the knight grumbled. “And I did not come here to slaughter women and children.” he stood and offered his hand to Yusuf. “Enough,” he said carefully in Arabic. 

Yusuf smiled and took the knights hand. “Your name?” he asked. “If we are to be joined in this task then we should know that at least.”

“Nicolo di Genova,” the knight said. “And you?”

“Yusuf Al-Kaysani.” He got to his feet with the knights help. “Now, Nicolo di Genova, let us drive fear into the hearts of murderers, together.”

Nicolo smiled warmly. “It would be an honour.”

Bolstered by their new purpose, they left their hiding place and ran once more into the streets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Nicky finally has a name, though I did like the way Yusuf thought of him, and they have started to bond a little bit. I feel this chapter is a little stilted but I couldn't think how to tighten it up. I also didn't plan on this being a multi chap fic but I guess its going to be one now :)
> 
> Nicolo does not know Arabic but he will continue to pick up and remember words. Whether he actually knew what he had said to Yusuf in this fic and if he intentionally mirrored Yusuf's olive branch offering from the first chapter is up to the reader to decide :)


	3. Blessing or Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weary from battle, Yusuf and Nicolo seek refuge and Nicolo gets a little philosophical about the nature of their immortality.

Was there a finite amount of times this gift or curse or cruel quirk of existence would bring them back? If so, Yusuf proposed that he and Nicolo must be close to exceeding its limits. They fought valiantly, falling into an unspoken pattern of Yusuf leading people away while Nicolo fought on. He was a knight after all and Yusuf had simply taken up defence of his city when called upon, like every other able bodied man within its walls. He always returned to Nicolo's side, drawing his sword and jumping into the fight with all the passion of a man who fought for the lives of others.

Many times they had fallen to temporary death. Countless people had been spirited beyond the walls because of the two of them and those mortals that turned from fighting in the hopes of preserving what was left. It was not enough. They both felt it but they were so tired of killing and being killed that they came to silent accord to leave the city and its new rulers to their victory celebrations.

Death did not leave them be however. Fighting seemed to greet them at every juncture and people were so on edge that they didn't wait to see if the two of them were friend or foe. In their exhausted, state they died more often than not.

Finally they found some respite in a little house on the outskirts of an abandoned village. The crusaders had left their mark here in the blood streaked buildings and the utter silence of the empty streets but it was quiet that they needed. Luck was on their side as they found water, food and blankets to sleep under. Recognising the gifts for what they were Yusuf allowed himself a quiet moment to pray for the people who had left such things behind due to horrific circumstances.

Nicolo prayed too, incessantly. Yusuf could speak Italian, any merchant was well versed in many languages, but what he needed from it did not extend to whatever Nicolo whispered under his breath. Perhaps it was Latin and not Italian at all? There was a beauty to it in its softness. Yusuf closed his eyes and kept as far away from Nicolo as he could to give the man space with his god.

As night began to set in Nicolo still sat, head bowed, rosary moving steadily through his fingers as he whispered his prayers. Yusuf was sure he could recite them himself after hearing them so often.

“Nicolo,” he whispered. “I do not wish to disturb you but you should eat something and get some sleep.”

Nicolo carried on praying as if Yusuf had never spoken.

“Your god surely will not mind you stopping to take water and food when you desperately need it.” Yusuf said and smiled so Nicolo knew there was no offence or jest intended. “Quench your parched throat so your prayers are loud enough to carry to his ears.”

This time, Nicolo did look up. The wild look was back, feverish with intensity. Yusuf held out the jug of water.

“Nicolo, please.” He moved a little closer and held out the jug once more. “You must drink.”

Nicolo snorted. “And what will happen if I don't?”

Yusuf took a moment to process the question. “You will die.”

“And rise again only to die and to rise and so on and so on until everyone I have ever loved has gone from this world.” He bowed his head and rested it upon his clasped hands.

“Allowing yourself to die now will not change anything. It will just cause you pain.”

“Perhaps this is why we must come back? To suffer like this?”

Yusuf rolled his eyes. “I suppose I should be happy that you think unending life is a curse. It proves you know that what you and your brothers are doing here is evil, wrong, and deserving of punishment.” He got to his feet and left the little house.

#

“It is not a curse.”

Yusuf opened his eyes. Across the floor of the small house, Nicolo lay on his back looking up at the roof, his profile just visible in the moonlight that spilled through the windows. “What is not a curse?”

“Not being able to die,” Nicolo said softly. “And I was blinded before. This is not simple suffering. Perhaps God intended for us to meet so I may learn the truth about a people I have been taught to hate my entire life.”

Yusuf sighed and rolled over, turning his back on Nicolo. “A pity this lesson could not have been learned within your own city, or at least before your sword was soaked in the blood of my people.”

“We did not decide to come here on a whim!” Nicolo snapped. “Fellow Christian's asked for help, for deliverance from the persecution they were suffering.”

Yusuf mulled it over. It was no secret to anyone that fighting broke out between peoples of different faiths from time to time. There were fights between people of the same faith too. But enough violence against the Christians to warrant a reaction like this?

“I do not require your agreement.” Nicolo said, interpreting the silence for disagreement. “I know why I have been blessed with this gift,” 

“And why was I also given this inability to die?” Yusuf grumbled under his breath.

There was a rustle of chain-mail and cloth on Nicolo's side of the house. “Perhaps we have something to learn from each other?”

Yusuf stayed silent. All he wanted to say were angry words and, if he was to be burdened with this man for however long, then it was best not to voice the hateful things he wanted to say. He closed his eyes and sought refuge from the images in his mind with sleep.

#

The next day dawned warm and bright. Yusuf was up to see it, taking over watch just as the sun not long before the sky started to lighten. Unlike Nicolo, who had remained inside the house but alert to any noise during his watch, Yusuf cautiously stepped outside.

Smoke still hung in the air, carrying with it the stench of the sacked city, but it was quiet save for the noise of the birds. Perhaps the fighting had truly stopped. There had been nothing but skirmishes left when Yusuf and Nicolo had been forced to abandon Jerusalem.

What would they do now? They could stay here and continue to fight, but for what? Jerusalem had fallen into Christian hands just as it had succumbed to Muslim rule before that and Christian rule before that. Continuing to fight would only result in more people dead.

He could return to his family, to his business and try to glean some semblance of life before from the wreckage, but something about that left a sour taste in Yusuf's mouth. 

And then there was Nicolo. 

That the two of them had found each other so far from Nicolo's homeland and at a time when Yusuf just happened to be back home and not travelling was something Yusuf could not ignore. They had been brought together for a reason and it was not the one Nicolo thought. Yusuf had no need to learn about Nicolo or his people. He was a well travelled merchant who had met many people around the world and the only time he had raised his sword was in defence. He was not going to be a character in Nicolo's little dream of redemption. It was time Nicolo knew exactly what Yusuf thought of their inability to die and just exactly how their partnership would work.

Yusuf strode into the little house while rehearsing the words he wanted to say in his head, and found Nicolo gone. He picked of the blankets on both makeshift beds but of course there was no sight of him. On further inspection, some of the food and water had also been taken from the house.

Yusuf packed what he could before setting out in a westerly direction. He scanned the ground, looking for footprints or any other sign of Nicolo's passing and, finally, he saw him in the distance. 

It was a split second decision and Yusuf slowed his pace. Let Nicolo feel like he had broken away from him and let him fend for himself. Perhaps, in following him, Yusuf would prove Nicolo's thinking right and actually learn something about the knight who could not die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens in this chapter other than them talking but I hope you like it all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been reading my way through a lot of nicky and joe fics and have found myself really wanting more about their beginning. this is not your typical enemies to lovers. Nicky literally hates Yusuf's people in the beginning and, since they are an invading force, I can't imagine Yusuf is too fond of Nicky's people either. They have so much more to overcome than the typical enemies to lovers couples, at least the ones I have stumbled across.
> 
> Anyway, I got this idea in my head of Nicky's last attempt to kill Yusuf and it being this desperate attempt at finally succeeding in the mission he barely believes in. I couldn't shake the image in my head of Nicky trying to wring the life out of him and just breaking down completely. and so this fic was born. I hope you liked it. Not sure if I'll write more of these guys in the future but I'm definitely considering it.
> 
> oh and I almost forgot, Yusuf's dialogue at the end is supposed to be stilted because he is dehydrated and struggling to translate into another language.


End file.
